hair, and the feel of it brushing against him, over his glans, forced a groan from him as he moved back and forth.
“Trick!” she gasped. “Please! I want to feel you in me!”
He released her breast and straightened his arm, looming high over her again. She was flushed and breathless. Without saying a word, he pushed back to his knees and opened the condom, watching her watch him as he rolled it on.
She lifted her hips at him, rocking in invitation. With his eyes on hers, he came back down. Her outside leg, the one not trapped against the sofa, came up and hooked over his back, and he pushed into her, watching the flare in her eyes as the feel of him happened to her.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. “Oh, holy shit.”
She was tense, however; he could feel stress everywhere in her, especially in the leg around him. “Relax, honey. Relax.”
She swallowed and took a long, shaky breath. “It’s…it’s been a while. And that piercing—I’ve never…it feels…”
“How long’s a while, Jules?” He hadn’t intended to shorten her name that way, it had just happened, but she smiled a little at it, and he felt the tension in her ease somewhat.
“Almost a year.” Pink blossomed over her face as she said it. “It’s dumb, but I’m scared.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. The piercing is nothing to worry about. And you’re plenty wet. God, so wet.”
“It’s not that. I’m scared of this. What’s between us.”
“I won’t hurt you.” He let that statement cover everything, because he meant it in any way she might need him to mean it.
She stared at him so long without speaking that he’d almost decided to pull out. But then she hooked her hands over his shoulders, using him as leverage to pull her upper body off the sofa. Pressing her face against his chest, she whispered, “Help me not be afraid.”
Beset by so much need in so many forms that the room seemed to close in around him, Trick gathered her close and spun them, resettling so that he was seated on the sofa and she straddled him. The force of the move pushed him all the way into her, sealing their bodies. He shouted a groan, and she arched back so far that he clenched his arm to keep hold of her. Her juices flowed, and he could feel her muscles twitching around him as her body accommodated him.
When she met his eyes again, he cupped her face with his hand, rubbing his thumb over that little dark spot. “Stop thinking, Jules. Do what you want.”
It took her a few seconds to respond, but when she did, she nodded and closed her eyes. Her hips began to rock on him. She moved gently, experimentally, and he remained still and observed her discovery as it moved over her face.
When she found the position and rhythm she liked, she smiled and opened her eyes. “It’s so intense,” she gasped.
He’d gotten that piercing—all of his piercings, and most of his ink, too—for a host of reasons, and the least of them was sexual pleasure. He hadn’t lied; it did feel good to him. The movement of the curved bar during intercourse created a different sensation, intensely pleasurable without compromising his endurance. And some women—like Juliana, seemingly—did love it. Others did not.
But his reasons for ink and metal were more complicated. More than sex, it was about the way it all set him apart, made him distant from the soldier he’d been, and marked that difference in every aspect of his life. His dreadlocks had been that, too. All of it had helped him exorcize the demons he’d brought home with him.
It was about the pain, too, though ink was better than piercings for that. Pain cleared his head. Never was he calmer, inside as well as out, than when he spent a few hours in a tattoo chair.
Juliana reached a tentative hand out and took hold of the ring through his right nipple, breaking him away from his thoughts and back to the moment. She pulled,
“Trick!” she gasped. “Please! I want to feel you in me!”
He released her breast and straightened his arm, looming high over her again. She was flushed and breathless. Without saying a word, he pushed back to his knees and opened the condom, watching her watch him as he rolled it on.
She lifted her hips at him, rocking in invitation. With his eyes on hers, he came back down. Her outside leg, the one not trapped against the sofa, came up and hooked over his back, and he pushed into her, watching the flare in her eyes as the feel of him happened to her.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. “Oh, holy shit.”
She was tense, however; he could feel stress everywhere in her, especially in the leg around him. “Relax, honey. Relax.”
She swallowed and took a long, shaky breath. “It’s…it’s been a while. And that piercing—I’ve never…it feels…”
“How long’s a while, Jules?” He hadn’t intended to shorten her name that way, it had just happened, but she smiled a little at it, and he felt the tension in her ease somewhat.
“Almost a year.” Pink blossomed over her face as she said it. “It’s dumb, but I’m scared.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. The piercing is nothing to worry about. And you’re plenty wet. God, so wet.”
“It’s not that. I’m scared of this. What’s between us.”
“I won’t hurt you.” He let that statement cover everything, because he meant it in any way she might need him to mean it.
She stared at him so long without speaking that he’d almost decided to pull out. But then she hooked her hands over his shoulders, using him as leverage to pull her upper body off the sofa. Pressing her face against his chest, she whispered, “Help me not be afraid.”
Beset by so much need in so many forms that the room seemed to close in around him, Trick gathered her close and spun them, resettling so that he was seated on the sofa and she straddled him. The force of the move pushed him all the way into her, sealing their bodies. He shouted a groan, and she arched back so far that he clenched his arm to keep hold of her. Her juices flowed, and he could feel her muscles twitching around him as her body accommodated him.
When she met his eyes again, he cupped her face with his hand, rubbing his thumb over that little dark spot. “Stop thinking, Jules. Do what you want.”
It took her a few seconds to respond, but when she did, she nodded and closed her eyes. Her hips began to rock on him. She moved gently, experimentally, and he remained still and observed her discovery as it moved over her face.
When she found the position and rhythm she liked, she smiled and opened her eyes. “It’s so intense,” she gasped.
He’d gotten that piercing—all of his piercings, and most of his ink, too—for a host of reasons, and the least of them was sexual pleasure. He hadn’t lied; it did feel good to him. The movement of the curved bar during intercourse created a different sensation, intensely pleasurable without compromising his endurance. And some women—like Juliana, seemingly—did love it. Others did not.
But his reasons for ink and metal were more complicated. More than sex, it was about the way it all set him apart, made him distant from the soldier he’d been, and marked that difference in every aspect of his life. His dreadlocks had been that, too. All of it had helped him exorcize the demons he’d brought home with him.
It was about the pain, too, though ink was better than piercings for that. Pain cleared his head. Never was he calmer, inside as well as out, than when he spent a few hours in a tattoo chair.
Juliana reached a tentative hand out and took hold of the ring through his right nipple, breaking him away from his thoughts and back to the moment. She pulled,
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